


but she was walking back and forth and i was walking through

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And River is always there, like some siren on the edge of his mind, calling him to her. After Utah, he was wary, but somehow he cannot stop himself from seeking her out. Adventures with River are addictive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but she was walking back and forth and i was walking through

**_but she was walking back and forth and i was passing through_ **

He doesn’t have  _favourites_.

At least that’s what he tells himself, if he thinks of it at all. But it quickly becomes apparent to him that adventures with River are a whole different experience. She is mad and  _quick_  and clever – so clever it steals his breath at times. She keeps pace, and it is thrilling in a way he cannot articulate, but he so enjoys it, he keeps coming back.

Again and again and again.

After all Amy and Rory seem to enjoy their down time at night – and he doesn’t bother them then, because he knows that they need their alone time. Well, their alone  _together_  time. Married people like to go off and be... married. He tries not to think about it too much.

And River is always there, like some siren on the edge of his mind, calling him to her. After Utah, he was wary, but somehow he cannot stop himself from seeking her out. Adventures with River are addictive. Twisty and turny and the comfort of knowing that she can take care of herself. She still smirks at him, smug and all-knowing, and he  _hates_  that except that he really doesn’t at all, because her being that way is what makes her such fun on the adventures.

And then there’s the kissing.

He’s proud to say that he’s hitting a point when he can almost keep full control of his limbs when her mouth meets his – but she surprises him at the oddest times. Mid-running, pressed into nooks and hiding from some form of life or another, intent on killing them both, she likes to press against him and kiss him until he’s breathless. It’s terrible timing on her part, and he really shouldn’t allow it except it makes his hearts beat faster and everything is so much more exciting then.

She’s a bad influence really.

They have near misses and run so far and so fast that they collapse into the TARDIS, gasping and exhausted, unable to catch their breath. She always giggles breathlessly then, and he loves that giggle a lot. Because honestly giggling isn’t a very Riverish thing to do – but oh she  _does_. She giggles madly and the sound is one of the best things – especially when he laughs with her.

She’s different, away from Amy and Rory. Lighter, she takes more risks, and he can’t help but think the seriousness stems from a desire to keep his companions safe and it sort of makes his chest burn when he thinks about it too long.

They love the running –  _she_  loves the running, but this time, this night, his hearts are beating hard and harder in his chest and it’s not excitement but  _fear_  powering them. His fingers slip as he snaps, the attempt awkward because of her weight in his arms. Blood on his hands makes his fingers merely slide ineffectually over each other – but bless his ship because the doors spring open regardless.

His throat is dry, burning, as he lays her against the console floor. “Rory! Rory! Amy!  _Rory!_ ” his voice bellows and echoes around the console room as his hands press against her side. Her blood seems too thick – dark and ruby and too thick as it seeps through his fingers. “ _RORY!”_  he feels like he is screaming, as he looks down at her, his hearts tangling together in his chest.

“River, River – you can’t – you don’t do this. This is  _not_  how it happens, don’t you  _dare_ ,” he hisses the words down at her, like water in a hot frying pan they bubble and jump out of him, but she doesn’t react. She hasn’t heard a word he’s said in a while. Her breathing is fast and shallow, her face pale and sickly and he feels like he must look the exact same.

“Doctor?  _Oh my god_ ,” Amy’s voice issues from above him but he cannot take his eyes off of River, as if he can  _keep_  her breathing, if only he just keeps watching. A watched  pot never boils, and a watched River  _cannot_  die – right? His thoughts feel incoherent and scattered. “Rory, get your bag, River’s hurt!” Amy shouts, running down the stairs to kneel beside him. “What happened?”

“We were running from guards – stupid,  _stupid_  Doctor – it was supposed to be a museum gala. That was all – she loves – she loves the museums you know. Any of them.  _All_  of them, such an archaeologist,” he mutters quickly, his hands pushing against her ribs so hard he fears he may break them, but she is bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and he  _has_  to stop it. His white dress jacket is covered in her blood, and there’s too much. There’s far too much.

“Oh my god,” Rory is running into the room now and he tries to push in next to River but the Doctor cannot move. He can’t – if he lets go of her – if he lets go of her – “Doctor, you have to  _move_ ,” Rory snaps and shoves him aside and the Doctor’s hands slide from her body. He reaches forward again, reaching for her but Amy’s arms wrap around him.

“Shh, Doctor, shh – you have to let him help her. Rory’s brilliant – he can fix this, I promise,” she is shushing him but he cannot look at her, only watch Rory’s hands as he cuts through the top of River’s dress quickly. She’d laughed earlier – twirled and stroked the blue silk, remarking how she knew it was his favourite colour. He’d stammered, unable to give voice to any of his thoughts – it made her eyes look more blue than green, and her waist looked so tiny – like he could wrap both hands around her and still have room to spare. But she’d smirked and winked because she  _knew_. The dress falls away – ruined now and he feels a sudden urge to cover her up – this isn’t how it’s meant to be. Rory shouldn’t see her like this –  _he_  shouldn’t see her like this. Not like  _this_.

“Rory, will she be – is she-” his voice is too thick, thick like River’s blood on Rory’s hands now – words coagulate and clot in his throat and he cannot  _speak_  them. He doesn’t even know who she is yet.

Except he really does. Oh he  _does_  and the realization chokes him, smothers him as he watches Rory work over her, his entire body numb. Who she is is irrelevant, because he knows who she is  _to him_. His hearts ache and he cannot speak or move or do anything but watch Rory Williams. “Save her,  _please_ , Rory,” he pleads, his voice hoarse and Amy’s arms still wrapped around him like vices. “We were just going to a  _party_. Just a  _party_  – she didn’t even have her gun. I asked her not to -” he chokes then and he is vaguely aware of Amy rubbing his back while he watches Rory anxiously.

“Doctor, her – is she human, do you know? This doesn’t seem like usual blood – it’s thick.” Rory glances back at him and pales as the Doctor stares at her in shock. He has no idea. All this time – he’s assumed of course, she  _looks_  human but so do a lot of species – what if she wasn’t even human? What if she were another species – the thought had never even crossed his mind. He preferred the company of humans, so of course she must be, right? Silly old stupid,  _thick_  Doctor. “It’s alright – from what I can tell it’s a clean through and through anyway – some sort of energy blast? The wound looks a bit charred, but I can cauterize the artery they nicked and stitch her up Doctor. Amy...” Rory is working as he speaks and Amy tugs on the Doctor’s sleeve.

“Doctor, Doctor – did you hear that?” Amy exclaims, rubbing his arm gently. “She’ll be fine. Good as new – Rory’s excellent – she’ll barely have a scar. He used to practice stitches on oranges in my kitchen when we were younger, he was top in his class, you know.”

The Doctor is paying Amy little attention, his eyes fastened on River’s too-still form, not even looking where Rory was working. Amy is still rubbing his back, but he isn’t listening to her, instead he is focussed on River. Time could be rewritten. He’s been focussing on that one concept when it came to River – because he knew, suspected that the man she killed was likely him. Knew that she had died  for him and he felt he had to  _save_  her from all that. Save her from him.

But he was so  _stupid_  because he’d forgotten time could be  _unwritten_  as well. Just because it had happened for him didn’t mean it would happen for her – and he is sat behind Rory, suddenly understanding that their time is far more fragile than he ever imagined. He could lose her – for any number of reasons. Death, or choosing the wrong path at any given moment – everything could come unravelled all around him if just one thread is lost.

He could lose her.

And it is the last thing he wants.

It hits him like a blow to the solar plexus; he is winded by it and rather stunned by the discovery of it at all. He had picked River Song up this evening, intrigued and amused and attracted, and now he sat here, completely in love.

“Falling in love is a  _stupid_  expression,” he whispers out loud with a frown, “it’s not like falling at all. Falling implies some sort of trajectory before impact – this is like – it’s like she’s just crossing my path and I’m walking straight into her.”

“Doctor,” Rory is crouched in front of him, looking concerned the Doctor realises as he blinks. “She’s stitched up but we have to move her. And she’ll likely need a transfusion – but I’ve no idea where we would get blood for her – we don’t know her blood type or-”

Everything around him slows and crystallizes as the Doctor stares up at Rory. He loves her – and he is going to bend absolutely every rule in existence as far as he possibly can to accommodate him. “Her blood is in the med bay,” he announces. “Do we need to move her?”

“How do you know her blood is in the med bay?” Rory frowns in confusion and the Doctor moves closer to River, looking up at Rory grimly.

“Because – the next time I see her, I am going to make her stockpile some to keep on hand for this,” he explains in a terse voice. “Can I move her?”

“But then how would it be there now?” Amy questions with a frown and the Doctor closes his eyes in exasperation.

“Because, Pond, the TARDIS exists in  _all_  of time and space. It will be there – because she knows we need it now. Now Rory,  _can I move her_?” he snaps at them both and Rory startles, jumping a bit before nodding.

“Carefully but yes. I can help you-” But the Doctor is already sliding his hands under her, lifting her with ease before walking up the stairs and down the hall to the med bay, now significantly closer than the last time he’d checked.

“Thank you old girl,” he whispers as he carries River to the bed, Amy and Rory following behind him.

“Oh there is blood here- a whole transfusion kit,” Rory exclaims, grabbing the needed items from the stasis shelf and bringing them over. The Doctor sits in a chair by the bed, not letting go of River’s hand as Rory moves around him, setting everything up.

“Doctor, would you like me to get tea or – or a change of clothes for you? You both, maybe – I could get you-”

“I’m fine, Pond,” the Doctor cuts Amy off and looks up to see she and Rory for what feels like the first time. They are both in their bath robes – Rory’s is stained with blood and the Doctor stares at him blankly for a moment, tears stinging his eyes. “Thank you, thank you both so much. Rory – how can I ever – if you hadn’t of been here...” he glances back at River, still and pale on the bed and then he looks back to Rory gratefully.

“You’d have been fine, Doctor. I’m sure there’s some sort of cure all around here somewhere. You’d have coped.” Rory speaks calmly, Amy’s hand wrapped tightly in his own but the Doctor shakes his head swiftly.

“No, Rory – I froze. I couldn’t – I couldn’t  _think_  or  _do_  anything. It was nothing to even do with us you know – all that adventure and she just happened to be an innocent bystander this  _one_  time. She tried to stop them stealing the final gem of Na’har, you see. She just tried to stop them and they shot her. No – no discussion or negotiation, they simply – she was just collateral damage to them,” he frowns darkly as he speaks. He’d deal with the thieves later – once River was better. Because he knew his River well enough to know she’d want a piece of that particular action, and he’d not deny her. Not anything.

Not anymore.

“It’s different when it’s someone you love, Doctor.” Rory’s hand squeezes his shoulder gently and the Doctor blinks up at him. “She needs someone to watch her for a while,” Rory starts and the Doctor grips River’s hand tighter in his own.

“I’m not going anywhere, you two can go – back to bed. We’ll be fine. I’ll get you if anything changes.” The Doctor stops, turning to reach with his free hand and squeezing Rory’s hand in thanks. “Thank you again, Rory. Rory the Roman – I have never seen you so heroic.” Rory flushes and rubs a hand over his neck as he shrugs. Amy moves closer, leaning over the table and pressing a soft kiss to River’s forehead.

“We’ll see you in the morning, River. Rest well,” Amy whispered before turning to look at him sternly. “And you try to rest too. Don’t sit here fretting yourself, you hear?” She hugs him tightly, uncaring that he isn’t hugging her back – his hands still wrapped around River’s. She and Rory leave the room, and the Doctor turns to River, observing her.

She is so still and pale, and he sighs, leaning on the edge of the bed and stroking the soft skin on her hand.  He feels like this isn’t even  _her_ because River without her flirty smirk or vivacious commentary and comebacks isn’t really River at all. He misses her – the way she flirts and flies his ship and pushes the randomiser when she thinks he isn’t looking. He always plays up his irritation when she does that, because it makes her laugh.

“When did this even happen River? Somehow I was going out of my way to avoid you and now you’re everywhere and you’re everything. I walk slower along the path, just because I know you’ll cross it more often that way. I need you to get better River, I just... need you,” he sniffs, looking down to concentrate on the fine bones of her hand, tracing his fingers along the veins on the back of it. He studies her hand, wondering at the blood that flows through those veins. He wonders at everything Rory had said – was she not human? He could check – right now he could check and scan her and see. But that would be cheating, and who was he to rob her of the joy of the reveal?

She’d love that. She probably had loved it. Even though it meant him not knowing her from then on, for her. The thought hurts more now, aches and sits in his chest like a cat curled in the sun – utterly content to stay forever.  “Will it hurt as much when it’s my turn River?” he blinks away tears at the thought. No smirks, no flirting, no warmth, affection,  _love_  in her gaze. He sniffles again, leaning down and pressing his forehead to her hand. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confesses to the sheets and then laughs. “I can’t imagine stopping though, I don’t want to stop,” he sits up, looking down at her and brushing a gentle hand over her hair. “I can’t stop. Not anymore.”

He studies her face in a way he simply cannot when she is awake. It screams of a schoolboy crush, the way his eyes trace her face, the arch of her brow and the small bump in the bridge of her nose, how full her mouth is, the fine lines around her eyes, the line of her jaw – how tiny her ears are, hidden amongst all that hair. She’s perfect, he thinks – she is lovely and mad and clever and oh god, he feels everything within him well up until he is shocked to realise he’s crying. But he’s felt such fear tonight, such lust and fear and relief and love – it is a lot, especially for him. He likes to play all of these things rather close to the vest, usually.

As he studies her, the rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her waist, the slope of her shoulder he especially loves, her arms, and elbows, wrists and hands and fingers – he sees her stirring, slowly rising to consciousness. “River?” he leans over her, standing beside the bed and staring down at her worriedly.

Her eyes open with a moan, and relief hits him in an overwhelming wave. He breathes deeply; acutely aware that he hasn’t been since the moment she’d stepped in front of those men at the museum. Her eyes open and she winces, but the lights lower with a hum and she opens her eyes once more. “Sweetie?”

“If you ever,  _ever_ do something so utterly stupid again River, I swear I will – I will –”

“What, spank me?” her voice is weak and her smile barely a twitch of the corner of her mouth and he lets out a breathless laugh.

“I  _may_  you know,” he warns her sternly and she laughs weakly.

“Oh I  _know_ , honey,” she teases him, her hand squeezing his as he lets out a sigh.

“I thought you were – I couldn’t – River you  _can’t_  do that again,” he explains seriously and she smiles weakly, lifting her hand to place it on the side of his face. “You  _can’t_.”

“I’m sorry, my love, I thought I could... stop them.”

“And  _always_  have your gun from now on. I don’t care how much I complain or if I remember telling you this or not – ignore me then. Listen to me now – always River. Always have it – you need to be able to protect yourself,” he insists and she smiles up at him, the corner of her mouth wobbling.

“And you, sweetie. Always protect you too,” she adds and he laughs, nodding and leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t care who you are, River,” he whispers to her, his face next to hers and she gasps, looking up, her eyes searching his intently. “I don’t care, because I know. I know who you are to me. Will be. Always, River. Just don’t – don’t do anything like that again. Promise me.”

“Okay, Doctor, I promise,” she vows softly, her eyes meeting and holding his. “Can I go to our room? Only I hate the med bay, and I’d sleep much better knowing you were more comfortable than folded up into a tiny chair.” He doesn’t let his shock at her use of ‘our’ instead of ‘my’ or ‘yours’.  Of course it is their room. And he somehow knows without asking that she is referring to his room. A sacred space for him – not even accessible by companions – yet he knows that she has been there. Will be there. Countless times and hopefully for far better reasons than this. She is sitting up, holding his arms and pulling the transfusion line out carelessly. He wraps and arm around her waist and helps her stand and walk out of the med bay. Every step is accompanied by a hiss of pain and progress is quicker than he’d imagined, because once again his room is remarkably closer than it was previously.

Bless his old girl.

River sheds her ruined dress and curls up in his bed, looking at him expectantly. He sheds his own coat, unties his bowtie and unbuttons his shirt as he toes off his shoes, kicking them aside. He slides behind her, wrapping and arm carefully around her waist – low to avoid the careful stitching Rory had painstakingly tied and bandaged. He presses a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder, turning his face into her curls and inhaling deeply.

“I love you, River,” he whispers into the dark, and she sighs deeply, wiggling back into him, her hands wrapped around his arm as she sighs once more. She is asleep again already and he laughs softy, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll tell you, over and over again until you’re sick of hearing it,” he promises her softly, knowing he will keep it.

He’s rubbish at these sorts of things, he knows. Saying what needs to be said. But history has taught him the consequences of never saying it when it mattered. And tonight had been a wakeup call for him. So he knows – this is one promise he will keep.

For as long as he can.


End file.
